500 The Trust Corporation
by Empty Pen09
Summary: Liz and Red take a trip to Wall Street to deal with a small problem, a drug cartel.
1. Chapter 1

"Masha," Red said with an enthusiasm Liz had grown quite accustomed to on the rare occasion she decided to poke her head out from her hotel room. Reddington was always happy to see her but she knew from the tense looks she got that he was the only one. Dembe didn't seem to hold much of an opinion, at least none he shared, and for that she was grateful. But besides the two men who found themselves featured most prominently in her life these days nobody else seemed pretty excited to see her.

"Morning," she said coldly, not bothering to give Reddington's guest the curtesy of a glance.

"Edgar you've met Masha," Red said with his usual superficial politeness. Liz had begun to understand his need on the formalities of good behavior. In Reddington's case it stemmed off the anger and violence that lurked just beneath the surface. It had taken her all of a week to see that he actually preferred people who attempted to be rude to him, that way he'd have an excuse to drop the pretense and unleash the beast.

Edgar, a skinny Hispanic man covered in tattoos, didn't look familiar to Liz. In all likelihood she and he had never met. This was another one of Reddington's games, making people uncomfortable by making them question themselves.

"I don't," Edgar began to mutter before Liz finally gave the man her undivided attention.

In the two months she'd been on the run with Reddington she'd scrubbed herself clean of Elizabeth Keen. Masha Rostova wasn't Elizabeth Keen in any way that actually counted. The only thing familiar about the two women was the way they looked. Elizabeth was a smiling suburban patriot. A decorated FBI agent and profiler. Masha was a criminal in the most basic sense of the word. She was a murderer, a spy, and a reputed terrorist. A woman, who according to the criminal underworld, was so dedicated to bringing about the demise of the United States and everything that it stood for that she'd joined the FBI, rose to its highest ranks and used its most prized investigative bureau to embarrass, hurt, and attempt to destroy it. Masha had murdered 14 CIA operatives, 1 United States Senator, and the United States Attorney General. Masha was a heartless monster who had no sympathy for anyone except for Raymond Reddington himself, and maybe Dembe.

Reddington had spread the story himself. A criminal needed a myth, he'd told her. Liz knew this was true but she hadn't commented at the time. Instead she'd dyed her brown hair blonde colored the tips jet black and taken to dressing in the most outlandish outfits that she could find. Black slacks or jeans and black tee-shirts and tank tops, always rounded out by two shoulder holsters holding chrome Sig Sauer 9mm pistols. Reddington called the guns ostentatious but Liz didn't mind. Masha was completely ostentatious.

"He doesn't remember me," Liz said without emotion. She'd mastered the art of speaking without giving away her feelings. Masha didn't have many opinions, and she had even fewer feelings.

Red happily kept talking. "You two met in Brooklyn two years ago. Masha, or Elizabeth Keen I guess, was part of a task force assigned to bring you and your brother to justice. Your brother foolishly took a shot at FBI agents and was killed at the scene. Masha here saw to it that YOU got away clean. The bureau doesn't even know what you look like, they never have in fact, your brother died for nothing. I warned you not to do business with those Armenians but you both insisted. I told you I couldn't protect you and you said you could protect yourselves. Masha did me a favor, against her better judgement I might add, by letting you slip through the cracks. She asked for nothing in return. So imagine my surprise when her face is plastered all over the TV and she needs YOU to return that favor by assisting her passage out of the United States, and you turn her down. She was even willing to pay Edgar, but your people told her a flat out NO."

Liz looked at Edgar without emotion. "Thanks for that by the way. Always nice to know who your friends are."

Edgar began to shake his head. "I wasn't aware of her assistance. If I had known I would have absolutely secured her transportation. One good turn and all."

Reddington only smiled. "Of course you would have. But putting that old business aside we need to speak about NEW business. I've just spoken with your importers, the Trust Corporation, they're ending your business association effective immediately. Rumor has it they've partnered up with the Valdez Cartel."

Edgar's face went white and Liz saw her opportunity to pounce. "I told you he didn't know."

Red looked at her and shrugged. "I owe you five dollars," he said before turning his attention back to Edgar. "You my friend will be effectively out of business in a month. Feel free to do your own due diligence of course and come back to me when you're finished."

Edgar, who Liz knew now to be Edgar Ochoa, of the infamous Ochoa brothers, leaned back in his chair. "What brought this on? Business has been good. Payments have been on time, always on time. The price they ask, I pay. Very little haggling."

Reddington shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest idea what they're up to," he said with a shrug. A rare truth from a man so steeped in mysteries and lies.

"They're making a move," Liz said not bothering to look up from the pitcher of orange juice she was pouring herself. "Criminals only end business arrangements for a couple of reasons. Lack of trust, they're about to get caught, they're not making enough money, or they want to hang their own shingle."

Red nodded his acceptance. "She's probably right I imagine. The Trust Corporation prides itself on having its hands in everything and if they're aligning with Valdez they must be getting something BIG out of it. You trust one another I assume, nobody has killed anyone yet, you said yourself you've always paid on time. I couldn't imagine any police agency, FBI, Interpol or otherwise even knows about them so that only leaves door number four."

Liz sipped her juice. "Valdez is probably dead. I had a guy in the FBI who was trying to get in my pants, and he basically admitted to me in so many words that Delta Force found the old man in Greece and put him away. The cartel has been running on fumes over there ever since, nobody in the organization even knows what happened to him, which is how you've been able to gain so much ground. They have no central leadership. Trust probably figured it out, or set it up even, and will slip right in. Instead of getting 20% from you, they'll take the entire 100% from Valdez. It's basically what they do on Wall Street already. Now instead of screwing over some house wife in Tampa they're doing it to YOU."

Reddington shrugged. "Never trust Wall Street Edgar. Those guys are what's wrong with the world. At least people like You, Me, and Masha, have a code. We keep our word and we don't screw each other over. If you say we have a deal, then we have a deal. Until one of us calls the other one up and informs them the deal is off. It's nice and clean. It's surely not what those idiots in Hollywood portray, machine gun fights on loading docks."

Liz finally laughed, well snickered, Masha didn't laugh. "Or knife fights in bathhouses."

Edgar laughed. "I've never actually been to a bathhouse."

Red nodded. "I have. They're big in Russia. Cultural thing I guess."

"Another thing the Americans stole from me," Liz said before walking away and pouring her orange juice on the floor.

Red gave Edgar sympathetic eyes but stopped short of rolling them. "She's still a bit sensitive about the whole failed plot to take down the government thing. Give her some time and she'll be up to some new scheme before we know it. Until then Dembe and I are giving her a wide berth." He looked down at the spilled Orange juice. "And investing in good cleaning products."

"So what can we do about the Trust Corporation," Edgar asked. Liz could still feel his eyes on her as she disappeared around a corner.

"Give me a few days to make a few inquiries on your behalf. I'll get to the bottom of this, trust me."  
~~~~~~

"Masha," Reddington said with unexpected enthusiasm as Liz finally remerged from her room. Liz was back in her hoodie but had rounded off the outfit with furry slippers. She'd been spending lots of time in her hotel room but as of five minutes ago she was getting stir crazy.

"Red," she said still using her Masha voice. According to Tom, Masha should always be center stage. Liz was gone forever. Or at least for the immediate future.

"We have business."

Liz's eyebrows raised. "WE," she asked with interest. Despite being on the run together Red very rarely brought her into his business.

"Of course WE. We're in business together Masha."

Liz snickered. "Are we? You've left me out of absolutely everything."

Red finally smiled. "Yes I have. You tend to make people nervous. Even more so than Dembe. Anyone who can kill the US Attorney General, then escape from the FBI by getting into the Russian embassy, THEN effectively escape from THEM all after causing an International incident will make anyone a bit nervous. You can bring governments to the brink of war Masha, you'll surely intimidate some gun runner from Minsk."

Liz seemed to understand. "And you need someone intimidated."

Red laughed. "As a matter of fact I do Masha. I need someone very intimidated."

"Let me find my shoes," she said with a monotone voice that was becoming all the more comfortable.

Red looked down at her feet and shrugged. "You should wear those. It will confuse the hell out of them."

Liz looked over at Dembe who only offered an approving nod.

"Well, let's go."  
~~~~~~~~~~

The Trust Corporation was on the center of Wall Street and despite being on the FBI's most wanted list Red didn't seem very concerned about being identified. His comfort and ease made Liz comfortable herself which only seemed to build on the Masha Rostova mythos.

The Trust Corporation's New York headquarters was a nondescript 40 story skyscraper made of glass and steel that held over 1.5 million square feet of office space. Trust had bought the building in 2001 for a half a billion dollars. Money that didn't even make a dent in their cash reserves. Especially considering according to Reddington they had their hands deep in criminal enterprises all over the globe. They were the premier bank of choice for criminals around the world. They were responsible for laundering money for drug lords, war lords, terrorists, dictators, everyone. And now according to Reddington a small account worth upwards of 30 million dollars that belonged to Masha Restova.

"So what do I do exactly?" Liz asked as they walked right into the front door of the building without a care in the world. The whole place just kept on moving as if they weren't even there. Red to his credit didn't look out of place. She on the other hand looked silly in her jeans, hoodie and furry slippers.

"Anything you want. You don't have to say anything. Just your presence will be enough. Trust me, they'll be so nervous that you're actually here, you won't have to do a damn thing. I'll do the rest."

Liz's response was just to shrug and Red only smiled his response.  
~~~~~~~~~~

"I was at the Kyivskyi Vokzal in the Ukraine and a man was selling ice cream cones in front of the building. It had to be -20°F outside but he had a line around the corner. And when I say it was cold outside, I mean it was COLD. I literally had icicles hanging from my eye lashes and Dembe actually put on a hat. For the life of me I didn't understand what was going on. I mean I love ice cream as much as the next guy but this was just ridiculous. Still I was intrigued, so I actually stood in line to see what all the fuss was about. I waited fifteen minutes in the freezing cold and when I finally got to the guy selling the stuff he only had vanilla. And the ice cream wasn't even very good. Still the guy was making a killing. He was bringing in 5000 Ukraine Hryvnia a day from that little cart, which is about 200 American dollars. He'd been doing this for years. He was about 60 years old, and he had a home that was paid for, and had sent his daughter to the University, she it seems was a lawyer who graduated with no student loans whatsoever. I asked him what his secret was and he just shrugged. He'd been working the same spot for fifty years and his father had worked the same spot for fifty years before hand. This, it seems, was his secret. Stability. Parents had been bringing their children for the ice cream for a hundred years, and they in turn would bring their children, and on and on and on. Nostalgia. The ice cream isn't that good but its ice cream and when you're a kid you don't know the difference. You just want it. So these people who had eaten this stuff sees it still being sold, they have a wave of nostalgia and they say what the heck, and it takes them back to being children. Other shlubs like me see all these people in line buying ice cream and we want to see what the fuss is about and we stand in line. This happens every day. This old guy is cleaning up out there. He's making about 70 grand a year selling Ice cream for a few hours a day. Sure he has to work every single day but only for a few hours. I was fascinated by the thought of it and I began to think about ways he could up his profit margins, or better yet open my own shingle. A buck is a buck right?"

Liz sighed with obvious disgust and Red looked at her with approval. "See Masha here gets it, don't you Masha?"

Liz shook her head. She'd been pacing the back of the room like a mad woman, not saying anything and not stopping. The man behind the desk had been listening to Red talk but his eyes had been on her. His attention had been alternating from her face to her feet since they'd walked into the room. Red had been right, it had been disconcerting.

"Big ideas. Let's figure out a way to squeeze more money out of it. Can't leave well enough alone. Am I warm?"

Red laughed. "You're boiling hot. See Marcus, if I opened up an actual ice cream parlor it likely wouldn't make a dime during the winter. Nobody wants ice cream when it's cold outside. It's completely crazy. In fact most ice cream parlors actually close when it's cold outside. Me opening up my own shop doesn't make sense. I don't know the first thing about selling ice cream, and I don't have the built in community connections that the old man has. I just saw money being thrown around on Ice cream and figured HEY, if that old idiot can do it, surely I can too."

Liz shook her head. "You'd have to move to the Ukraine. You'd need vendors. You'd have to get up every morning and stand outside in the cold. You'd have to learn all about the ice cream business. And my guess is you'd try and jazz things up because you don't know what you're doing, and before you know it you're out of business."

"That's if the old man doesn't kill you first for taking food off his table. Because in the real world, away from this ivory tower of yours hidden behind MBA's and profit loss statements, people kill one another over money. In the real world if you steal from people, they grab a gun and they put a bullet in your head. And Marcus that's just the ice cream business. Drugs is much nastier."

Marcus began to shake his head. "Now I don't know what you've heard Raymond but," he said before Red cut him off.

"Marcus I represent interested parties. Parties who've heard about your little expansion into the drug business. They're concerned because drugs mean drug sentences and drug sentences means informants. Informants mean cops, and cops mean the government and the government means property seizures. See where I'm going here?"

Marcus began to shake his head. "I don't know what you think you know but."

Liz decided Masha had heard enough. "Hey," she said with icy indifference. "How much C4 do you think it'll take to bring this building down? I figure a few pounds at 11am. You're all criminals so there won't be much outrage. You forget that. You won't get a monument, or a pin. You're not a hero Marcus, nobody is going to care. And when the government opens an investigation into Trust for drug trafficking, and they seize your assets. Seize MY assets. Take every dollar I have because YOU stupid bastards are trying to start your own drug cartel. I will come back and blow this place to kingdom come. And then I'll kill every member of the board, and you remind them that all their billions won't be able to save them from me. But YOU. You'll die first Marcus. I will come to your house and I'll cut you open like a turkey on Thanksgiving."

Red was watching with his usual half smirk when Liz piped down and continued to pace the floor. "You have to forgive Masha, she's on vacation. Well at least she was until you guys started dealing drugs. She was at the spa with a tiny oriental woman working on her toes, I know it seems racist but I didn't hire her, and she gets a call. She calls me and I convince her not to put her work boots back on. See she's on vacation. But if she's not on vacation then she's working. And if she's working people get nervous. You see, somebody is probably already going to die because she came here. The second she walked through your front door somebody's ticket got punched. The world is watching Marcus. The world is watching and dangerous people with lots of money invested with you just saw the most wanted person on the planet walk through your front door. They heard that SHE has an account with your firm and stands to lose everything. And if she loses everything, outside of the normal course of doing business that is, she's going to be angry. And they'd do anything to prevent her from becoming angry. As I suspect YOU will. So what I need you to do is get on the phone Marcus. Get on the phone and call your board of directors and tell them that you're out of the drug business. Maybe call Ochoa. He'd be more than happy to take on the extra business. In fact you can even increase your profit margins without actually taking on the extra risk. This is a win/win situation Marcus."

Marcus looked like he was going to vomit and Liz fought the urge to smile. Masha didn't smile.

"Buck up," Red said as he stood up and head towards the door. "It's not YOU who's going to die."

Liz snickered. "At least not TODAY," she said. Before she left she walked over to Marcus' desk grabbed his fancy six dollar coffee and poured it all over his nice rug. When she walked out the door Red only gave Marcus a shrug.

"Relax, coffee is easy to clean. Not like blood for instance, that makes a terrible mess."


	2. Chapter 2

Donald Ressler stared at the photos and fought the urge to roll his eyes with annoyance and disgust. Keen had been making this so hard, unnecessarily hard, if she'd just come in and explain herself maybe she'd be able to salvage some sort of life for herself when all this was over. The longer she stayed on the run the guiltier she looked. Every day that passed she cemented herself as the terrorist and super spy the American public thought she was.

Ressler wanted to strangle her. She'd turned life completely upside down for everyone when she went on the lam. The Post Office had changed significantly since she'd been gone. Half the faces working here he didn't recognize anymore and with the exception of a select few none of them even knew Keen. Mossad Operative Samar Navabi, and Special Agent Aram Mojtabai were still mainstays but nearly all the other faces he'd grown accustomed to were MIA.

Now the CIA was here poking their noses around and asking questions. When the investigation had first started Ressler had been instructed to extend them every courtesy but they'd begun to take advantage of that as of late. However he wasn't in the position to cause trouble, as far as they knew Keen had murdered 14 of their agents in cold blood, and they were eager to make her pay. Even if Ressler believed her, he understood where the agents stood on the issue. Keen couldn't be allowed to run free.

Today they had photos. Keen was in New York from what they knew and they were here to wave the pictures in everyone's face and show the FBI how better they were at their jobs than Ressler and the Post Office task force was. He'd politely looked them over but hadn't commented about them at all. Anything he said would only be taken out of context and used against him in some bureaucratic nonsense later.

"Special Agent Ressler is there any reason that you know of that Rostova would be in New York," one of the agents asked with a tone Ressler couldn't help but take offense to? He'd identified himself as Agent Rube Fischer, but Ressler knew that was an alias. Rube Fischer had played baseball for the New York Giants in the 1940's. Ressler only knew THAT because his grandfather had talked about Rube until the day he died. The man wasn't a very good pitcher so his grandfather would call him Rube when he made mistakes at menial tasks around the house. It was a name Ressler would never forget as long as he lived. When Fischer's partner had identified himself as Andy Hansen Ressler simply nodded along, Hansen was another Giants pitcher. CIA agents were notorious liars, that was one of the first things he'd learned when he started his job with the FBI. Criminals and lawyers sometimes lied, or omitted some facts, but the CIA ALWAYS lied.

Ressler knew better than offer up anything of substance that the men could run with. "No, I don't. Keen didn't keep me apprised of her travel plans." Everyone had begun calling Keen, Rostova, as of late. Even the media was calling her Masha Rostova. Her life as Elizabeth Keen was only a cover as far as they were concerned. Ressler knew better but again he knew better than to make a fuss about it. Defending her was a bad idea these days.

"Rostova was spotted on Wall Street three day ago. We got an image of her from a teenager's social media account. He didn't realize who she was when he took the picture and when he posted it the NSA alerted us. We interviewed the kid but he didn't remember much about her. He said she was just looking around. He thought she was sight-seeing but in retrospect she could have been scoping the place out. When he found out who he'd inadvertently taken a picture of, he puked."

"YOU interviewed him? That's OUR job," Ressler said. "We do this for a living."

"We know," Hansen said snidely. "You've been doing a bang up job so far. You worked beside one of the world's most dangerous terrorists for, what, a couple years and didn't see anything amiss."

Across the room Navabi glared. "Oh, we're sorry. Catching spies isn't supposed to be OUR jobs. You CIA guys are supposed to be experts at that. Forgive us for not knowing Special Agent Elizabeth Keen was spy, and the daughter of a spy. We were told her mother wasn't actually a real person so we didn't put the pieces together in time." She looked up at Ressler with faux confusion. "Who told us that again boss?"

Ressler shrugged. "I'm pretty sure it was the CIA, Agent Navabi."

Fischer gave his partner a glance then got back to business. "Regardless, any information you can give us about cases Agent Keen's worked in New York would be helpful. Preferably anything involving the Ochoa Brothers. We have credible intel that a few years ago, she helped facilitate the escape of Edgar Ochoa from an FBI sting operation."

Ressler wanted to scream but he kept his cool. "How credible?"

Fischer didn't blink. "Extremely. Edgar Ochoa confirmed it himself on a call the DEA intercepted just this morning."

Across the room Agent Aram Mojtabai sighed heavily. Ressler couldn't help but agree.  
~

 _Trading was halted on the New York Stock Exchange today amid reports that former FBI Agent, Russian spy, and known Anarchist Masha Rostova made a trip to New York City this week and visited Wall Street, the Nation's financial capital. Rostova, number one on the FBI's Most Wanted List, was photographed by a high school student who unwittingly captured the fugitive on camera with his cell phone. Rostova was reportedly walking up and down Wall Street in furry slippers and without a disguise. The FBI failed to speculate on Rostova's motives for visiting the financial district this morning and attempted to downplay the incident as mere showmanship on Rostova's part until later on in the day when Rostova allegedly simultaneously hacked into the email accounts of nearly 20,000 Wall Street workers and resent the photo of herself along with the caption: Your Billions Won't Protect You From Me._

 _The photo sent shockwaves through the financial community as the Dow plummeted nearly seven hundred points in less than four minutes before the SEC halted trading. The Exchange remained closed for the rest of the day as the major banks addressed security concerns._

 _New York City Mayor Arthur Brewer called the act a form of economic terrorism and dispatched the NYPD to investigate._

* * *

"What the hell," Liz asked as she stormed into Reddington's hotel room? Red and Dembe were seated at a small collapsible card table and hovered over a chess board. From the looks of it Dembe was well ahead but Red didn't seem at all concerned with his status in the game. If Liz knew him as well as she thought she did she figured he had a plan, Red always had a plan.

"Masha," Red said with that familiar enthusiasm that both warmed her heart and made her skin crawl.

"I just saw myself on the news. Looks like someone caught a picture of me when we were visiting Trust. Now we can add economic terrorism to my list of charges."

Red smiled his charming smile. "The photograph was unfortunate but I figured, Lemonade. Best use it to our advantage."

Liz scoffed, Masha did a lot of scoffing. "Our advantage? Is that why we left New York in such a hurry?"

Red nodded. "I thought you loved Chicago?"

"Yeah but not while I'm leaving cases in my midst."

Dembe laughed but Red killed his humor with a swift move of his Queen. Dembe's brow furrowed in response.

"Masha you're a criminal now. You're always going to be leaving cases in your midst. It just so happens that you're high profile so everything you do is going to be magnified by the media. That's why it's important that we only trot you out when we really need to. But in the meanwhile the stock market is a funny thing. If you know exactly what is going to happen and WHEN you can make quite a bit of money. And it turns out that we in fact made a lot of money off this little stunt. You shut down the entire financial system, half the markets in the world shut down for twenty four hours because you sent an email. I know it's a bit much, the threat and all, but hey look on the bright side, your thirty million is now a hundred and thirty million. So there's that."

Liz couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she was suddenly a millionaire. She didn't feel rich. In New York they stayed at one of the nicest hotels in the city. Her suite was bigger than most people's apartments. In Chicago they were staying in a dive hotel off the highway, the sort of thirty dollar a night spot that probably didn't even change the sheets. Red and Dembe didn't seem to mind it so she didn't either. Masha was a team player.

"Well a lot of good that's going to do me when I can't spend any of it," she said doing her best to not sound like a crybaby. Masha wasn't a complainer. At least she didn't think she was.

Red gave her a disinterested shrug. "Sure you can. Your moves are limited but the best thing about having a lot of money is having people come to you. For instance, you're Russian and you carry guns. That's fine, but Russians carry knives. Especially FSB operatives, they wouldn't be caught dead without their knives. You can hire someone to come in and teach you how to wield one properly. Money isn't an issue anymore and you have nothing but time. Treat yourself nice. Learn to cut people. It'll make you feel better."  
~

"I don't understand what she was doing THERE. I mean Wall Street," Ressler said almost to himself. Across the room Navabi rolled her eyes at him while Aram punched away at his computer.

"Maybe she was there being an economic terrorist Agent Ressler. Ever consider that? That she's guilty. I mean she sent an email threating the country's financial system. As much as I want to see the guys on Wall Street sweat it out, the media is saying that today was an incredibly expensive day. They're saying that her little stunt cost this country billions of dollars. Every country in fact lost billions of dollars. If they wouldn't have shut things down who knows how much money she would have cost us."

Ressler simply shook his head but across the room Aram stopped typing.

"Actually, in order to pull off that sort of email hack you'd need to be a world class hacker. More talented on a computer than Agent Keen is," he said as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Former Agent Keen," Ressler corrected him.

"Masha Rostova," Navabi said correcting them both. "Agent Keen is a figment of her imagination. She's Masha Rostova until we prove otherwise."

"Well whatever her name is she wasn't on Wall Street to terrorize the public."

Aram nodded his agreement. "I agree. I've been pouring over surveillance footage. Most people don't realize this but there are more cameras on Wall Street than any other spot in New York. You'd be crazy to try and pull off some terrorist plot there. Everyone is expecting it."

Navabi raised an eyebrow. "They did a good job spotting Rostova. She walked around for like five minutes down there, without a disguise, and in furry slippers. She was basically taunting us. She did everything but wear a shirt that says International Terrorist."

Aram chuckled. "They actually sell those shirts online. I actually bought one for myself for Christmas."

Navabi only nodded. "I've seen it."

Across the room Ressler gave the woman a look but didn't bother asking any questions. He'd seen the weird connection Aram and Navabi shared, he'd noticed them leaving together occasionally and spotted them drinking identical cups of coffee in the morning. They were very likely engaged in some sort of relationship. Or at least whatever Navabi considered a relationship. However that wasn't the issue right now.

"Aram have we figured out anything new?"

"Not really. She goes into one building and stays for maybe ten minutes. No idea of what she does while she's inside. We made a request for the building's security tapes but apparently they were down for maintenance. We had agents check the security logs but apparently she was able to sneak past the security desk without signing in. If she was inside we have no idea why."

Ressler nodded. "What company?"

"The Trust Corporation," Aram said with confidence. "One of the newer banks on Wall Street. Well, relatively speaking. They're about fifty years old."

Agent Navabi crossed her arms and almost scowled. Ressler picked up on her discomfort immediately and gave her a little prod.

"What? What don't we know," he asked plainly.

Navabi sighed and shook her head. "Trust may be into something less than legitimate."

Ressler nodded. "Like," he asked.

"Everything," Navabi answered noticeably uncomfortable now. "Drugs, money laundering, you name it. We have a file two drawers deep on these guys Ressler. They're bad news."

"Of course they are," Ressler said unimpressed. "They're our new names on Reddington's Black List."


	3. Chapter 3

Knife fighting wasn't like anything else in the world. You could do things with a knife that you couldn't do with a gun. A knife was easy to maneuver in the way a gun wasn't. If you spun a gun around with your hand in the middle of a fight you'd look like a complete idiot, if you did it with a knife you'd look like a complete badass. Knives were intimidating weapons, arguably more so than guns because using a knife took skill. Any idiot with a finger could pull a trigger. A man who chose to use a knife was a force to be reckoned with because he clearly knew how to use it. Russian operatives could use both, knives and guns, the skill and precision of a knife, along with the reckless abandon of a gun. Armed with that knowledge Liz resigned herself to perfecting her skills with a knife. She couldn't pull off FSB operative without the practical tools any FSB agent would have taken as second nature. Even on a bad day she could fake most of it. However Knife fighting wasn't something you could fake. She had to learn the skill, hold the knife in her hand, only THEN would she feel complete.

Tom had told her once that being undercover, really undercover, wasn't acting. It was living, breathing, and believing. She would have to actually BE Masha if she wanted to survive, all the time. Masha Rostova had to become a real person. A real person with her own quirks, her own way of thinking, her own way of looking at life. Elizabeth Keen had to be a distant relative. Masha Rostova would have to be who she was deep down at her core. Masha would have to be in the driver's seat. That was the only way it would work according to Tom. Being a criminal wasn't like being an undercover cop, there would be no debriefing afterwards, no backup to come in and save her if she got in over her head. When things got hairy she would be all alone. Sure, Reddington was usually nearby but Masha wouldn't rely on him. Masha wouldn't rely on anyone but herself. Masha was a criminal of the highest order. An anarchist capable of vicious acts that worked to serve nothing other than chaos. Simply pretending to be that person wasn't enough, to survive Liz would actually have to become that person.

Of course that was all well and good in theory, but at the end of the day she had to deliver. Threatening people was one thing, pretty soon she'd be forced to prove herself. One day she'd be forced to show the world what she was capable of, and when that day came she couldn't simply pull out a gun and shoot someone. Actually she supposed she COULD. But quickly disabling a threat was what Elizabeth Keen would do, and Masha wasn't Liz. Masha was a separate person with her own motives and psychology. Masha was a showoff and showoffs didn't end fights quickly. Showoffs liked to drag things out. Showoffs liked attention. So Masha practiced, and practiced, and when she didn't think she cared that much anymore, she practiced again.

Days felt like weeks as the moments ticked away. Masha spent the better part of three weeks hiding out while the world searched for her. The Stock Exchange had rebounded vigorously but none of that mattered according to Reddington. The damage was already done, he said. Masha assumed that by done he meant that they'd already made a pretty penny off the Trust Company fiasco, and it was already time to move on. In the weeks since they'd left New York she'd heard him speaking about something called Victory Capital Investments. It didn't matter to her what he was up to, she knew he had some sort of plan. She didn't actually expect him to tell her what it was, even if she asked him, Reddington for all his endless tales of drama and intrigue wasn't the sort of criminal who spoke about his past or future crimes. Masha liked that about him, it was something they had in common.

In the end it wasn't important. Masha was spending all her days practicing with her knives and had little time to involve herself with Reddington's plots. She considered herself serviceable with the weapon but she wasn't in the serviceable business. She was in the Anarchy business, and a serviceable anarchist was a dead anarchist.

* * *

"These files look pretty clean to me," Ressler said with annoyance. "We've been going over this stuff for nearly a month and all we've found is a company with impeccable books."

Across the room Aram punched away at his computer. He'd been unusually quiet today but Ressler hadn't bothered to ask him what was bothering him. Despite the length of time they'd known one another and worked side by side together he knew very little about his coworker. Still, being an FBI agent meant paying attention to details and the tenseness of Aram's jaw said plenty. Something was wrong with him, Ressler was sure of that, but the way he carried it, so close to his chest, and with all the dignity he could muster, told Ressler that it wasn't case related. Less than an hour ago Agent Navabi had walked over and gently placed a hand on his shoulder and that small gesture had seemingly given him some peace. No words had passed between them at all today but Ressler suddenly found himself wishing that the woman would offer him that hand once again. But he decided again to stay out of it. Agent Navabi was intensely private about everything, but her situation with Aram was different, even a hint of a question about it sent the woman on the defensive. Without a doubt her spending time with him required her to be in full on spy mode. A woman like her surely had gained enemies over the years and her carefulness spoke volumes about her feelings for him. Samar Navabi was cold, quiet, and professional, but deep down Ressler supposed she was more than just a bit of a romantic. Keeping her feelings for Aram, and their relationship for lack of a better word, quiet, was her way of protecting him from the horrors of her past.

"Agent Ressler," the voice called out sternly. Ressler got the feeling it wasn't the first time his name had been called.

"Yes," he answered immediately standing to his feet. Across the room Agent Navabi was staring at him with suspicion and he found himself thankful that she couldn't read his mind.

"Aram's found something," she finally said with a tone Ressler took as scolding. Her eyes squinted with suspicion, as if she were telling him to stay out of her business. Ressler didn't hesitate again but he also took the hint.

"What do you got buddy," he said before immediately regretting it? He and Aram could hardly be described as buddies.

To his credit Aram didn't seem to notice. "I found some irregularities. The Trust Corporation is clean. Very clean. So it got me to thinking. Every company has some skeletons. It's just one of those things about being a big corporation. Somewhere someone would have dumped some illegal chemicals, or fudged some tax numbers. It's just human nature. So I went back over the numbers and instead of looking at Trust I looked at the company that handles their service jobs, for example, the company that handles their cleaning, janitors, electricians, stuff like that. Their numbers are extremely wonky. It says they have 150 total people on its Trust service staff. Even with a company the size of that it's a lot. So I started looking into those people. Some of them are alright. Others not so alright. Addresses that lead to empty parking lots, and people who don't exist at all. One of their janitors has even been dead for years but he's still cashing paychecks. I started looking into other companies that they subcontract out work to and they're just as dirty. I've been trying to track down who owns those companies and they're all leading back to a shell corporation. I haven't been able to find out who owns IT but I'm guessing I won't be able to."

Ressler nodded his head in approval. Finally a lead, he thought. "That's great work Aram. Let's get everyone on the same page with you. You take point on this, dole out assignments as you see necessary and focus resources where you think they belong. Agent Navabi and I will go back to Trust and apologize for any inconvenience we've put them through. We'll tell them we've scoured through their books and didn't find anything. We'll set up a time when we can send all the paperwork back to them. It won't lead us anywhere anyway. Hopefully it'll put them at ease and they'll be back to business as usual. Now that we know where to look we can finally catch them in the act."

Aram nodded eagerly, his sour mood suddenly brighter. "I got it sir."

Ressler gave the man a look. "Aram, you don't have to call me sir. You've known me for years, call me Ressler."

* * *

Agent Navabi gave Ressler an arched eyebrow from her place in the passenger seat of the large black Government SUV. They'd ridden in silence towards the Trust Corporation's headquarters on Wall Street for nearly twenty minutes before either one of them had said a word.

"What's going on with you," Navabi asked with hesitation. In all the time they'd known each other she had never asked him anything personal. They spoke about the weather, the cases they were working on. She even spoke to him about his 'feelings' for Keen once, but even then it was under the pretense of helping him, protecting him from himself. She didn't really care about his feelings, that much had been clear, she'd been trying to help him professionally.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said with as much machismo as he could muster, but knowing it wasn't enough.

"What you did with Aram wasn't exactly the sort of thing you're used to doing. It was nice, and dare I say a small bit sympathetic. I mean," she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I appreciate it. He needed it today. I just don't understand where it came from."

"Is he okay? He seems a bit off today, is everything okay with him?"

Navabi just shrugged her shoulders. "I couldn't say," she said firmly.

"Couldn't or won't?" Ressler knew better than to believe she didn't know what was going on. Still he knew better than to believe she would tell him.

"Both. But he's fine. He'll BE fine. He has someone to look after him."

"Someone like YOU?"

Navabi didn't move, her emotions seemed to slink away into nothing and her cold hard shell returned.

"What's going on with these Trust company guys do you think? Why would Reddington turn on them? Is he trying to take over Wall Street now?"

"Where Reddington is concerned, who knows," Ressler said letting the silence take over once again.

* * *

"The trouble with the world is that people don't always have vision. Sure we walked on the moon, and built the Hoover Dam but that was years ago. And those were responses to very specific problems in the world. Now, these days, we're just sitting around getting fat. Eating potato chips and watching Survivor. Dreaming about a time when we actually went out and did things. Ironically enough the people who are doing things, the people who DO have vision, are the criminals. That's the real American dream isn't. To be born with nothing and to work to achieve greatness."

Masha stared at Reddington from her spot in the corner. Liz would have rolled her eyes at his long winded speech, Masha listened intently. As for the others in the room, they didn't understand the point of all this. They never did. But Masha knew Reddington's stories always had a point if you paid close enough attention. Still, Masha was disruptive and she hated to sit still. She picked up her glass of Diet Coke and poured a little of it onto the cold linoleum floor. Every eye in the room glanced in her direction but nobody spoke a word. Their attention quickly shifted back to Reddington.

"We've all worked our way up from nothing. We've put in the time on the streets, getting shot at and building reputations that make normal people quiver under their beds at night. We've made money, lots of money, which we entrusted to people we thought understood us. Like minded individuals who promised us safety and security for our assets. Now imagine my surprise when I found out that the men I entrusted some of my own money to thought it would be wise to branch out and involve themselves in OUR business.

"All of us know that being a criminal isn't all hanging out in strip clubs and driving around in limousines. We have to get down in the muck sometimes and get our hands dirty. We have to hide out in smelly places, with shady people, and sometimes do things that are less than savory to ensure our survival. We all understood this when we got into this line of work. It's the life we've all signed up for. What we didn't sign up for was to have the pencil necks we hired to protect our money looking for ways to put us out of business so THEY can take it over. See if one of you were to do this to another one of us, we'd all shrug. Of course it would start a war, but we all know it wouldn't be personal. It would be business. Someone wins, someone loses, someone lives, and someone dies. Its part of the life we've signed up for. In fact we expect this sort of thing from one another from time to time. I actually find it a bit endearing."

Across the room someone snickered and Masha fought back a laugh. Only Reddington could make betrayal and murder sound charming and par for the course.

"Still, this rarely happens. We all do fairly well in our own respective fields. I know you've put in the appropriate amount of time to make good on any promises you make to me and vice versa. This allows us to specialize and charge fair market value for our goods and services. So imagine my horror when I find out that the Valdez Cartel has been betrayed and taken over by the very people they'd entrusted to protect their assets. The Trust Corporation gentlemen. They are in fact our problem. I say OUR of course because they have our money, all of our money, and they do in fact have to be dealt with."

Across the room someone finally spoke up. A stout Japanese man with both hands covered in tattoos. Masha suspected his entire body was covered but knew better than to ask. Irezumi was a common practice in the Yakuza and by the looks of the Japanese man's suit he was surely a member of the Yakuza, likely a Kaikei, a Yakuza accountant.

"If what you say is true then money is a secondary concern to my organization. Of course it must be retrieved but if given the choice between honoring my organization and getting the money back I'm apt to choose honor," the Japanese man said with a thick accent.

Half the room groaned. Apparently he was alone in this thinking. The rest of the guys wanted their money back. Masha didn't blame them. Being a criminal was about respect but it was also about making money. If you let someone steal it what was the point of making it in the first place.

Reddington, ever the diplomat, only nodded with a smile. "What our Japanese friend here means of course is that we get the money back FIRST, then we kill them. But in any circumstance, they have to die."

He looked across the room finally locking eyes with her and Masha felt a slight chill. "Masha and I have already moved our finances to a new, more reliable, investment firm and we suggest you do the same. Of course our little visit to Trust last month brought some unwanted attention. Kids and their cell phones," he said with a shrug. "What can you do? In response to this unfortunate incident we've taken it upon ourselves to make things right with all of you. When you came in Dembe gave you each a briefcase. Inside each is two million dollars cash, taken from both of our personal finances. We offer our heartfelt apologies and urge you all to move your money quickly. I hear the FBI is currently investigating Trust, doggedly persistent as they are it's just a matter of time before they seize all the company's assets. The money you received should be enough to set yourselves up at another firm of your choosing. It should more than cover the cost of starting up a new business."

The Japanese gangster rose to his feet and offered a quick bow, then regained his seat. "My organization accepts your apology," he said politely. Everyone else simply opened their briefcases.

Reddington raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Masha isn't there something you wish to say?"

Masha rolled her eyes but didn't hesitate. "Sorry," she said like a chastised child. "Even though they were stealing from me," she said not quite under her breath. Half the room gave her polite nods of acceptance.

"Forgive Masha, she's not the forgiving type. She considers someone losing her money because they're being stupid or greedy the same thing as them stealing it from her. She of course hasn't had the time to enjoy the fruit of her hard work like the rest of us have, so the thought of losing a dime annoys her." Reddington shrugged. "Understandably so."

The room seemed to shrug in acceptance and Masha decided now was the time to show she wasn't just some maniac. "The FBI is going to shut that place down and I wanted my money back first. Sue me. They won't give it to me once the feds get them in their sights. Remember Meyer Lansky and Cuba. Castro is probably still spending his money. And who could he complain to? It's not like he can call the police. When in doubt, get your money back FIRST. I'd rather put it in a storage unit than let some slick talking Wall Street guy lose it to the government. If the feds get it I'll never get it back. If someone steals it out of the storage unit I can at least cut off a few heads and get most of it back. It's not like I killed anybody. I thought you'd be happy."

Reddington smiled. "Oh I am happy. I'm not complaining. It cost us a few dollars but a few dollars is better than all dollars. And our hasty actions may inconvenience our friends here so we made things right with them and they're on their way. Everyone wins."

Masha shrugged.

"This new company. Who handles your money now," Someone finally asked? "I need to move my money but move it to where? Trust was the only game in town that could handle my volume."

Reddington stood up and placed his fedora on his head. "They call themselves Victory Capital Investments. Their upfront cost was a bit steep but they assured me that this little fiasco with Trust would never be repeated there. My money is safe in the event something happens to them. If I get caught maybe the government seizes my assets, maybe not. Probably not, according to them, they won't be able to find them, but in any case there isn't a link between me and them. So even if they do get busted one day it isn't going to affect me. I have one contact within the company and if they go down, he can disappear and that cuts the link. There are contingency plans in place if he gets hit by a bus or something but we're getting into details that are over my head. I'm good at lots of stuff, but investment banking isn't one of them."

"You said your upfront cost was steep. How steep?" Someone asked.

"It's different for everyone they say. My assets were considerably larger than Masha's but she paid more due to her high profile. They handled everything. I paid them in cash and they took care of the rest. I didn't even have to call Trust to end our business relationship. They did it all with lawyers and accountants and computers. Turns out I won't ever have to go back to Wall Street again. Not that we ever could, right Masha?"

"Would you rather I told them the truth about why I was there. Don't worry America I'm not really here to blow things up, I just wanted to check on my money?"

Half the room laughed. "I'm just teasing," Reddington said with a smile. "We do what we must. Boots on the ground. That's the difference between US and THEM. They do something stupid that draws attention to what they're doing, and we do something necessary that solves our problem but still draws attention away from what we're actually doing. You only learn that stuff by being an actual criminal. Anybody with an education can do what they do, we on the other hand had to learn the hard way. Practical experience trumps book knowledge any day of the week."

The Japanese gangster rose to his feet with his briefcase full of cash in hand. "I would like to be put into contact with Victory Capital. If they check out as you say they do I will advise my superiors to give them our business." He bowed, causing Reddington to mimic the action.

"Thank you Mr. Kindo. Make my apologies to Mr. Shintoma, as well for any inconvenience I may have caused." Red looked back towards Masha.

"Sorry," she muttered again softly. Kindo gave her a bow and Masha sighed heavily, rose to her feet and returned the bow. "Sorry," she repeated.

Kindo only nodded this time and disappeared into the hallway.

Masha wasn't sure what Reddington was up to, but playing along with his little schemes was always the best play. He knew what he was doing and she trusted him. Masha didn't trust a lot of people but Raymond Reddington had made the top of list. She trusted him even more than Tom, Liz's husband, who she pretended not to love anymore.

"Well folks it's been my pleasure, but Masha and I must be hitting the road. We have business in Quebec."

Someone across the room scoffed. "Tell me you're not doing business with THOSE guys."

Reddington nodded. "They promised us safe passage to Alaska. It's Polar Night. We'll only have a few hours of daylight to contend with. It's the perfect place to lie low for a while."

Masha doubted this was the actual plan since Reddington was telling the entire room about it. He never did that. However she kept her mouth shut.

"Alaska. I can get you to Alaska. Those guys in Quebec," someone said with a thick Irish accent. "Forgive me for saying it but they're animals. Consider it a peace offering, an acceptance of your apology and a gift to honor your generosity."

Reddington nodded. "We accept your generous offer, right Masha?"

Masha nodded. "Yeah sure, thanks."


	4. Chapter 4

Donald Ressler thought Samar Navabi looked at home when he stepped into the front door of Aram's tiny apartment. She was wearing a pair of comfortable jeans and a tan tank top with a large black stain down the side, with no socks or shoes. She was holding an FBI coffee mug that matched one Aram had sat on a small end table across the room and he looked as if he'd just climbed out of bed. Navabi eyed him with suspicion as he eased his way inside.

"What's up Ressler," she asked, her tone hard and cold, all business. He found himself wondering if there was any warmth inside her. Surely there must be, Aram seemed to be the kind of man who needed warmth but Navabi showed no sense of it. If there was any warmth inside of her it was hidden behind safely constructed walls she'd built for herself. Walls that kept her safe and kept people at a distance. Aram wasn't exceptional, at least not in any way that didn't involve a computer, yet he'd found a way to get passed that wall. Ressler found himself wondering how, but knew better than to ask.

"Agent Ressler," Aram said with his usual mix of excitement and nervousness. He was on his feet and Ressler watched as he shoved both hands into his pockets, before pulling them out and shoving them behind his back.

"Hey guys sorry to interrupt," he said quickly.

"You're not interrupting anything," Navabi said coolly. "What do you need?"

"Nothing. Well not exactly nothing. I wanted to let you guys know that we have a positive ID of Keen in Alaska. A small borough called Skagway, a port town."

Navabi's interest seemed piqued. "Any idea what they were doing there? I assume Reddington was with her."

Ressler nodded. "She was spotted with a large African American man with a strange accent. Likely Dembe. If Dembe's there Reddington isn't far behind."

"Actually, African American doesn't apply in this instance. Dembe was actually born in Africa, Sierra Leone. That would just make him a large African man with a strange accent," Aram said softly.

Navabi smiled just a tad before her face was again all business.

"Sorry, a large African man," she said turning her attention back to Ressler.

He didn't see the point of the correction but he didn't bother defending it. It was technically wrong and as an FBI agent he understood the realities. One missed detail, one undotted I, or uncrossed T and an entire case could fall apart. Specifics. Life as a federal agent was about specifics. And Ressler had been through the ringer enough times to know he didn't have the luxury of small errors.

"You're right. African man," he said with a sigh. "Dembe and Keen were seen at a local bar. Skagway is a tourist town during the summer months but there's only about a 1000 people during the rest of the year. They were spotted having drinks in a place called The Station."

Navabi shrugged. "Another verified spotting? That's two, is she getting sloppy?"

Ressler shook his head. "Probably not. We think she was trying to get spotted. She was walking around with a shirt that said 'Fugitive from Justice' on the front. She was armed with two chrome guns in shoulder holsters and a knife strapped to her leg. A very large knife, I'm told. She wasn't even trying to hide them."

"A knife," Navabi asked? "Does Keen carry a knife?"

Ressler wasn't sure. "I don't ever remember seeing her with one, but it's obvious we didn't exactly know her as well as we thought we did. If you told me she could fly a helicopter or could defuse a bomb I wouldn't be surprised."

"If Agent Keen was a real FSB agent it's likely she'd be well versed in bombs. And knives," Aram said helpfully.

"Former Agent Keen," Ressler corrected him. "And is that true?"

Aram looked at Navabi, who nodded. "I'm sure it is."

"I'm headed down there. Thought you might want to tag along?"

Navabi looked at her watch. "What time?"

"We leave in an hour."

"I'll see you there," she said giving Aram a look.

"You don't need to pack a bag?" Ressler regretted the question almost immediately.

"I always have a bag packed Agent Ressler. I'm a Mossad Agent. Mossad Agents are always on duty." She looked back at her watch, then glanced over her shoulder. "I'll see you at work in forty five minutes." Across the room Aram coughed. Navabi almost smiled once again. "Well maybe fifty," she corrected herself.

* * *

Alaska was too cold. Masha hated it, and when they'd hopped on the boat and floated away she'd been thrilled to see it disappear into nothing. Who conducted business in Alaska? It was insane. It was cold and dark and nobody in the world wanted to spend time there during the Polar Night. The people who lived there were idiots and losers for not taking off to someplace warmer and with sunlight and Masha refused to be lumped into the pack.

The world was full of idiots. Small town losers who believed whatever the powers that be told them. The world didn't wait for losers, Masha had learned that lesson many times over the years. People followed orders and strength. That was the way the world worked. If you wanted to be somebody in the world you had to be strong. Masha was strong, the absolute strongest, and strong people didn't hide out in the middle of Alaska.

Reddington's plan was simple, make her presence known in the town of Skagway and wait for something to happen. Of course nothing did but this didn't seem to surprise Reddington at all. Masha had expected something to happen, a showdown with the cops, a middle of the night daring escape from the FBI, but in the end she and Dembe had simply driven out of town. It had taken them a few hours to make it back to the airport and another few hours to fly back to Anchorage. In all it had been a boring trip but Masha had expected as much from Alaska.

Still, being out at sea seemingly wasn't any better. If things went bad there was no place for her to go. The boat itself was nice at least. Reddington called it Bermuda. A two hundred meter long luxury cruise ship that once housed 1800 passengers. A few years ago it had been retrofitted and remodeled to house 300 passengers full time. The builders had spared no expense, the ship rivaled the nicest hotels in the world. The only problem was Masha had no idea where they were. For a fee the ship would dock at a destination of your choosing and sail off into the abyss. At no time did the passengers know where they were, and you couldn't get off at any time for any reason. It was of course incredibly expensive, and as usual nobody asked any questions.

According to Reddington a thirty day ride would set you back a hundred grand and a permanent residence would set you back multi-millions. A large chunk of change for a boat ride, but Masha realized immediately that it was worth every penny. It was safe, quiet, and once she'd gotten on she didn't have to worry about paying for anything else. Breakfast, Lunch and dinner were served for free every day in the dining room. Room service was available for snacks and anything else you could think of was a mere phone call away. Cell phone signals to the outside world were blocked, but there wasn't anyone Masha needed to call. Reddington had complained but had ceded possession of his cell phone along with everyone else.

In all it hadn't been a bad few days. There wasn't any live TV, some business about satellite dishes, but you could watch almost anything you wanted as long as you told the staff. Masha had watched an entire season of The Bachelor over the last two days and had read an entire Tom Clancy novel that had been delivered to her on an IPad. It seemed a boring life but after the year she'd had she deserved a little boring. When she wasn't reading or watching TV she was roaming about the ship making small talk with the few passengers who wanted to chat.

A week passed before anything important happened. Masha had slept in everyday, spent a little time at the gym, and the rest of the time was spent watching TV and reading, an endless cycle of relaxation and tranquility. That ended when the four new faces boarded the boat. Masha wasn't sure where in the world she actually was, but the sun was shining when she peeked out of her window. She got a distinct South American vibe from the environment but she didn't care enough to ask questions. Details didn't matter so as long as nobody was trying to arrest her. Unlike a regular cruise line nobody got off the boat to explore, Masha assumed the ship's passengers were people who'd rather not be seen in public. People like her, people who were wanted criminals, who'd just as soon get back out on the high seas. She went back to her luxury cabin to be safe from prying eyes until the cruise ship was back out at sea.

The four new passengers were different than the other passengers. Young good looking people who seemed out of place in a world of secure privacy. Of course in a strange twist of fate Masha knew one of them almost immediately. A woman named Susan Vick, fit, blonde, and with the most striking pair of blue eyes Masha had ever seen. Masha assumed Susan wasn't her real name, but Susan Vick was just as good as anything she supposed. She'd met Susan once, at Liz's wedding to Tom Keen. Tom had introduced her as his cousin, a dental hygienist from Georgia. Tom had said the woman was a bit distant and had been surprised she'd shown up to the wedding at all, but when Liz introduced herself to her she'd wrapped her up in a hug. For the entire night it was like they were old friends, but a few weeks later when Liz emailed Susan she hadn't gotten a response. Tom had given her a playful 'I told you so' and that had been the end of it. They received a yearly Christmas card and an occasional phone call on their anniversary but that was basically it. Liz had been let down, she'd so wanted the two of them to be friends. Masha almost laughed when she thought about how sad it had mad Liz back then. Pitiful.

When she saw Susan today she gave the woman a respectful nod and offered a hand. "Masha," she said professionally.

Susan smiled politely and extended a hand of her own. "Gretchen," the woman said with a thick Eastern European accent. Masha was impressed, the last time they'd spoken the woman was distinctly southern. Liz would have bet her best pair of boots that the woman was born and raised in Old Dixie.

"Nice to meet you," Masha said turning her attention back to the ocean. If you weren't reading, watching TV, or working out there wasn't much to occupy your time. Masha had taken to enjoying the sun on the deck of the ship in a flimsy bikini while reading a John Grisham novel. Liz loved John Grisham, Masha found him a bit preachy, but she loved his flair for mayhem.

"We've actually worked together before," Gretchen said with confidence.

Masha nodded confidently. "Yeah, we were cousins," she said before giving her shoulders a shrug. "Well, Liz and Susan were."

"Susan was sort of a bitch. A phony," Gretchen said making herself comfortable on the deck chair beside Masha. She was wearing a pair of green knee length Bermuda shorts decorated with palm trees and a matching green tank top. She looked comfortable, if not a bit masculine.

"That's okay. Liz was kind of needy."

Gretchen laughed. "Wake me up when Reddington finally decides he wants to get started."

Masha nodded. "Sure."

* * *

Masha hated being dictated to, but somehow Raymond Reddington managed to make himself immune to her annoyance. When he spoke something inside her wanted to pay attention. When he prattled on about some inane topic only to reach a point in the most roundabout of ways, she always seemed to find herself amused.

Bringing four strangers into their little dysfunctional criminal family seemed like a bad idea but Masha had learned not to make a fuss. Reddington always had the angles figured out. The only times she could think of where he didn't were instances when Liz managed to take some sort of moral or ethical stance that forced him to think out of the box. Masha knew better, where Liz was weak and annoyingly moral, Masha was strong and practical. She didn't want to hurt anyone, well not anybody who didn't deserve to be hurt, but she'd do whatever was necessary to ensure her own safety and freedom. Reddington knew this was a way of life, a method of survival that required strict obedience and dedication. Liz in all her foolishness eventually got with the program before Masha began doing all the heavy lifting.

"…great effort and personal expense," Reddington was saying. "The world is global, corporations run everything. As time ticks away for us on this ball of gas and liquid we call Earth we're forced to adapt or die. Masha, to her credit, has managed to push the boundaries of hysteria and mayhem to new heights but as with everything even she has to change with the times. The days of her running around causing trouble are behind her. Eventually one overzealous police officer or concerned citizen is going to get the drop on her. Her ability to travel freely has been compromised so she's been forced to go underground. That's where you folks come in. You three gentlemen and one lady are the new Faces of Masha Rostova."

Masha's eyebrows arched with interest. "What's wrong with MY face?"

Reddington smiled. "Nothing. Your face is perfect. Although it causes way too much attention. Thanks to your little Wall Street stunt, you are wanted by almost every civilized country on the globe. And with the exception of myself you are the most wanted person in the world. You're currently number four on the FBI's Ten most Wanted list and number one on the FBI's Most Wanted Terrorists List."

Masha groaned with annoyance. "I'm not a freaking terrorist. Cause a little mayhem and all of a sudden you're Bin Laden. Anarchy is the only slight glimmer of hope for humanity. How many times do I have to tell these people for them to get it? Every form of government going back to the caveman has become greedy and corrupt. The only hope of worldwide peaceful coexistence is Anarchy. Some politician sponsored by some Wall Street fat cat to put me on some list is the entire problem with the world. If some kid in $200 sneakers blows my head off while I'm eating my Cheerios one morning that will be Justice. Some smart bomb sent from some brainless automaton in some Army tent isn't real justice. It's a damn crime against nature. It's survival of the fittest, not survival of the richest."

Reddington nodded his agreement. "Hey you know I love your machinations more than anyone and I've corrected several people who've attempted to label you a terrorist and not in fact an Anarchist. But what are you going to do?"

"Remind them with a really big bomb," Masha said under her breath. Beside her Gretchen chuckled and Masha knew she'd found a kindred spirit.

"And you wonder why they think you're a terrorist," Reddington said with his superior attitude.

Masha scoffed. "They don't have a monopoly on bombs. People have been blowing things up since barrels of pitch."

"Before that even," one of the men at the table said off hand.

"In any case, our friends at The Cabal have been hot on Masha's tail and our other friends at the FBI are currently tearing our Alaskan hideout apart piece by piece looking for clues. With all this going on it's important that Masha keep a low profile. That's where YOU folks come in. You will be Masha's face. From this moment on, when people speak to YOU they are officially speaking to HER. She will plan operations from an undisclosed location and you good people will relay that information to underlings. For all intents and purposes you are her chief Lieutenants."

Masha had heard enough of Reddington's speech. "Look, I'm like you guys. I was given a mission. A mission that was lonely and dangerous and didn't benefit me at all. Along the way I had to lie to EVERYBODY. Good people, people I liked and had on some level become to consider friends. I had a life, and a house, and husband, but none of it was real. Because one day someone called me and told me that I had to burn it all to the ground to complete my mission. So like a good soldier I did. I followed my orders and completed my mission. But instead of bringing me home like they promised they burned ME to the ground. Left me hanging out to dry. Tried to kill me. The next thing you know they're calling me a terrorist. Saying I'm some crazy woman. So I decided that I was going to burn THEM to the ground. I was going to burn it all to the ground. They used me. Us. They used us all. When The Major was finished with you guys he threw you away. You had lives, and homes, and friends, and all the things that make life real. If you could have stayed, would you have? I would have. I know it wasn't real, my husband, my job, not even my dog, but neither was I. I could have stayed and been normal. Paid my taxes, watched Survivor, went to birthday parties, had babies. I could have been happy. I would have been happy. But I'm a good soldier. I followed orders. But when it was finished they didn't hold up their end of the bargain. I wanted to be brought home to Russia, a home I had never seen, a country that I didn't know, for a cause I've been told since I was a toddler was the most important thing in my life. I just wanted to go home. I finished my mission and I wanted to go home. But instead of taking me home they were going to put me on a plane and put a bullet in my head. They used me. They lied to me. Just like The Major did to you."

Masha stood up from her seat at the table and made eye contact with her four new 'friends'. Life had thrown them all curve balls. They were street kids, recruited by The Major, trained, and loved, made to feel special, then betrayed and discarded for some reason or another that the most important person in their lives deemed necessary. She wasn't sure how they'd managed to survive but it didn't matter.

"I can't give you back the lives they made you carelessly throw away. We've all lost those lives. I may be a lunatic Anarchist but I did good work at the FBI. I helped catch a pedophile once. It was to this day the thing I'm most proud of in the world. A month ago he said I planted all the evidence we had against him. They just let him walk right out the front door. They knew he was lying but it didn't matter. They took a pedophile's word over mine. The most important thing I've ever done was gone, just like that. So from this day on, I don't put my life in anyone's hands but your own. From this day forward we only trust each other. Here we have homes. We have friends, we have each other. If you want to find a girl or a guy and start a family you can do that HERE. That's my gift to you. A home of your own. The one thing none of us have ever had. Here you can be yourself. You can make something real. Even if you don't want to work for me that's my gift to you. Your apartment on this ship doesn't come with strings. It's an olive branch. A token of friendship from the only person in the world who understands what you've been through. It's my way of saying you can finally stop running. You're finally home."

* * *

"It wasn't exactly the route I would have taken but I have to admit it received its desired result. They're all on board. In truth I only expected one or two of them to take us up on our offer, I wasn't prepared for all four of them to say yes."

Masha shrugged. "Not my fault you aren't a profiler. I just gave them the one thing all of them have always wanted, a home, a family. It's not rocket science. This may be dangerous and insane, but it's real. It's the first real thing they've ever had. The Major, what he offered them, love and unconditional acceptance and praise. It wasn't real. That's the thing that hurt them more than anything. They did exactly what he asked, they didn't mess up, and he STILL tried to kill them. He was like a father to all of them. What are you supposed to do when your dad tries to kill you?"

"Move out," Dembe said firmly. "Start your own family and do things differently."

Masha nodded. "Exactly."

Reddington didn't look convinced but he didn't bother saying anything. Masha knew that sometime things couldn't be quantified with common sense. Sometimes you did things because they make you feel good. Sometimes a moment of reality was better than a lifetime of lies.

"So what's first? You have your army." The question caught Masha off guard. This was Reddington's plan but all of a sudden he was asking HER what was next. She wasn't sure what she should do but she didn't let HIM know that. Masha always had her shit together.

"We do what families do. We get to know each other and then we help each other get right with the world."

Reddington nodded. "The Major."

"Sure. It'll make them feel better."

"Fine by me I suppose."

"What about the Trust Corporation? Any word on them."

Reddington only smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Democratic National Convention:

Every political convention looked the same. Speeches, grandstanding, and posturing, all followed up by a political party nominating a candidate for president. The format hadn't changed in over fifty years so when the final speech was over and the prospective candidate stepped out onto the stage with his beautiful wife and adoring children nobody blinked when the balloons fell from the sky.

Up tempo rock music blared from the speakers and red and blue balloons fell from the sky. The entire convention audience seemed oblivious to the fact that the white balloons hadn't fallen down with the others. The music continued to blast as folks gave each other hearty black slaps and handshakes. It took roughly ninety seconds for the balloons to fall but less than ten for the entire audience to notice that the usually all white balloons were marked with a large black Anarchy symbol.

Donald Ressler gave the convention hall a looming look before letting out a restless sigh. This was a disaster, a security lapse of epic proportions. If Keen's band of lunatics could successfully infiltrate one of the most heavily guarded places in the United States the entire country would be up in arms. There hadn't been any sort of message to go along with the balloons just a photo released online of Keen giving Richard Nixon's classic peace pose. She was wearing her usual ironic black tee-shirt to mug for the camera, this time a simple Anarchy symbol.

Ressler had almost screamed when he saw the photo, Keen had passed the point of no return now. There would be nothing anybody could do for her once she was captured. She was infamous. Her photo was on the front page of nearly every newspaper in the world and the media had been discussing her all day.

"What a disaster. I've been chewed out by a half dozen senators, the Director of the FBI, and The President of the United States and it's not even ten am. I tried to tell them that it wasn't Keen who did this. Just some of her supporters," Ressler said the word supporters with unmistakable disdain. "Nobody seems to care."

Samar Navabi didn't seem to offer any sympathy. "She more than likely orchestrated this herself though. This is the sort of thing Keen would do. A show of tremendous power without any loss of life."

"I've been telling these guys for months that she isn't a terrorist and she pulls something like this?" Ressler was more disappointed than angry. He shook his head with exasperation. "I'm at a loss at what she hoped to accomplish."

Navabi shrugged. "Chaos. Keen isn't a terrorist. You were right. Aram says the online community seems to consider her an Anarchist. The people who did this, they didn't want to kill anyone. They want to disrupt things. They want to bring about the disruption of not just the United States Government but ALL governments around the world. She could have easily ordered her people to fill the balloons with ricin, or some sort of toxic chemicals but she didn't. She knew just the knowledge that her followers could infiltrate this place would cause chaos."

Ressler nodded. "She was right. The entire country is talking about this."

"That's what she wants. The media is finally starting to call her an Anarchist. That seems to be important to her. Not being called a terrorist."

"Any idea how this happened? How did these guys slip past security to pull this off?"

Navabi shrugged. "They didn't do it tonight. They've been planning this for months. The people who did this did it months ago. They've passed strenuous background checks, they worked the jobs for months to build up enough trust to be ignored."

Ressler sighed again. "Who in their right mind would take a job like this? Why?"

"You're forgetting, this is exactly what Keen was accused of doing. Infiltrating and sabotaging from the inside. There is a giant subset of people out there who do this for a living. Tom Keen for example. That guy the Major that he worked for, he had an entire crew of workers who specialized in this sort of thing. It looks like some of them defected to Team Keen."

"We need to track him down. Have Aram start putting the files together for us."

Navabi shook her head. "I already did. Three months ago a John Doe washed up in the Hudson River in New York. DNA matches confirm its The Major. Aram says the word on the street is that some of his ex-disciples turned on him and put him down. Rumor has it that over the years he's stabbed a few of them in the back, double crossed others. The ones who survived, well they banded together and formed their own little family. They call themselves the Forgotten Children, they've been underground but they have been vocal about their objectives."

"Let me guess," Ressler said with a deep breath.

Navabi almost smiled. "The destabilization of all forms of governments and an Anarchist state."

Ressler laughed. "Of course."

"We did find one interesting thing though," Navabi said with a raised eyebrow.

"What's that?"

"Remember that stain on the rug we found in Marcus' office at Trust? Well we found one here too. Aram said it's a calling card of some kind. It's not shutting down Wall Street, or disrupting the Presidential Elections but it's a small annoyance. The sort of thing that gets under your skin when you see your stained rug. It's ridiculous, but according to Aram that's the point. Marcus spent 15 grand on his office carpeting and Keen ruined it and forced him to rearrange his own day to fix it."

Ressler sighed. "And she gets off on this?"

Navabi nodded. "I guess. Her hacker friends use photos of stained rugs as screen shots or something. Aram tried to explain it to me but it got boring."

"I could only imagine," Ressler said shaking his head.

* * *

Masha couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good time. The world had been a harsh place for her but when she looked around the beach and saw the smiling faces and people having fun she almost allowed herself to forget that they were nothing more than lost children. People who had been forgotten and alone for most of their lives.

Their ranks had grown from the original four. Everyone knew someone who was lonely and unhappy and before she knew it four had turned into ten and ten to twenty. Some of The Major's soldiers had simply decided to stay in the lives they'd made for themselves on whatever job they'd been hired to do and Masha couldn't blame them. Life was real when you were living it and if they had the opportunity to keep the name, the job, the friends, the lives they'd made for themselves, the entire family had wished them well. Others had simply disappeared, wanting no part of Masha and her new family. Those people she'd wished well also, she couldn't blame them for not wanting to put themselves at risk for her. She knew this life would ultimately get most of them killed or arrested, she'd told them all that. None of the people who had come along had cared however. Masha's speech about having a home and a family had struck a chord with all of them. They were tired of running and hiding, they wanted something real. Even if it would be brief and would end violently.

Masha hadn't objected to killing the Major. Reddington had been against it, but he hadn't exactly made a fuss about it either. He thought the man could still be useful but understood the rationality of his death. The Major had betrayed nearly every member of Masha's new family at one time or another, and they wanted him gone. Masha wasn't against killing, she wasn't for it either however. If someone had to die, she understood it, but she wouldn't hurt random people to make a point. She hadn't cried for the Major however, he had tried to kill Liz's husband Tom, and letting him live wasn't an option. Liz may have been a dolt but Masha felt loyalty to her and Tom Keen was a hottie that Liz shared with her without any fuss.

"The party seems to be a success," Reddington said as he slid up beside her. He was wearing a pair of casual tan slacks and a light Bermuda shirt. And his hat. Masha had never seen him without it close by. He took the seat next to her. Dembe was across the beach playing Volleyball with a few members of Masha's family. Even he looked to be having a good time.

Masha shrugged the comment off. "Any word on The Cabal?"

"Not as of yet. We have however had word that our good friend Marcus at the Trust Corporation has decided to cooperate with Agent Ressler and our friends at the FBI. He's given several depositions already and from what we've been told our friends at the FBI are going to raid the offices any day now."

Masha wanted to be excited but she hadn't thought about the damn Trust Corporation in months. Once she'd gotten her money out she stopped paying attention to Reddington's overall scheme.

"Good," she said halfheartedly.

"Very good. Nearly all of our friends have already moved their business to US at Victory Capital Investments. Of course key members of the board have been picked off already. Marcus of course will be a problem, but he's manageable."

Masha gave him a curious glance. "Is that what all this was about? Stealing their business?"

Reddington nodded emotionlessly. "Of course it was. What did you think we were doing?"

"I don't know fighting to bring down the Cabal. Clearing Liz's name?"

Reddington laughed. "Clearing Liz's name? She shot the Attorney General of the United States. That's not up for debate. Sure other things that have been done have been blamed on her but ultimately she is guilty of enough to spend the rest of her life in prison. The Harbor Master's death alone is a life sentence. She didn't kill him herself but she's at worst an accessory to his murder. What about the police officer she shot? Sure she saved his life but he still got shot in the first place, that's twenty years right there. Add in the things you've done that will be blamed on her and we're talking about never being a free woman again. It's best we just make do with what we have."

Masha had always thought Liz's plan to clear her name was ill advised and foolish. She hadn't told anyone, but she suspected Liz knew she wasn't exactly on board.

"Well, what are you gonna do," she said with a shrug?

Beside her in the opposite chair a sleeping Gretchen groaned in her sleep. Gretchen hadn't left her side since they'd met. She went wherever Masha went, asked the security questions Masha overlooked, and spent more time speaking about security with Dembe than Masha would have thought was possible. It hadn't occurred to her until Reddington mentioned it that Gretchen had become her unofficial Dembe. A personal protector and close confidante.

"She seems peaceful," Reddington said giving the woman a look.

"She spent a lot of time working out the details of this get together. I feel badly that she isn't even getting to enjoy it. She's been asleep almost all day."

"Look around Masha. Everyone else is having fun. Your lieutenants have everything under control but it's Gretchen's job to see to the details. Now that things are worked out, she's enjoying herself. She's asleep. Take it as a sign of confidence that you're in good hands now. I know these people sitting around eating hamburgers and drinking Diet Cola makes this seems like a normal family barbecue but its far from it. These people are trained killers. All loyal without question to you. This is simply the top layer of management of a much larger organization. Your group has grown considerably Masha. It rivals mine almost. Anarchy and chaos it seems has a lot of fans, and your show of force at the convention only added to your mystique. Even now operations are being conducted in your name. Operations that are meant to sow chaos and discord amongst the status quo. Operations that unbeknownst to you, and them I imagine, are going to weaken the grip The Cabal has on the world. We're fighting a war on all fronts Masha."

"Well great," Masha said taking another sip of her margarita. She didn't concern herself with Reddington's plans but it was at least good to know he had one.

"You don't sound convinced," Reddington said with a smile.

"I don't have to believe you to trust you. You say we're on track, that's good enough for me."

* * *

Usually when people get kidnapped they aren't so thrilled about it. Usually there is crying and screaming, begging and bargaining. Masha had never heard of anyone smiling. But then again she'd never actually seen a reporter get kidnapped before. Maybe they liked the drama of it all. The finality of actually being part of the story for once instead of sitting idly by on the sidelines reporting about it.

"Do you know who I am?" Masha said as she stepped out from the shadows and walked slowly to her seat. She knew this was a ridiculous question, the woman had smiled when she'd seen her and the lights and cameras made it all but obvious she more than likely wasn't going to get hurt. Seeing the whole setup, being snatched up off the street and thrown in the back of a van, it screamed cloak and dagger. And Masha had made sure that the reporter knew who she was, Carol Wicks was one of her biggest critics. The sort of poison pen who couldn't be confused as a sympathizer.

Wicks nodded, doing her best to be professional. "I know who you are. Elizabeth Keen, number nine on the FBI's Most Wanted List. Wanted on the charges of Terrorism, Murder, and conspiracy."

Masha sighed and made herself comfortable. "I'm not wanted for terrorism. I'm not a terrorist. That's a common misconception by people like YOU who don't do their research, but I'm not actually a terrorist. I haven't been charged with that crime or accused of that crime by anyone at any time outside of the media."

Masha had done her best to keep a level tone but the slight edge in her voice clearly made Wicks uncomfortable. For the first time since this had started she was considering that she was in fact in danger.

Wicks shifted uncomfortably in her chair and brushed a stray piece of hair from her eyes. "Yes, I suppose that is true. You haven't actually been charged with terrorism."

Masha shook her head. "No, I haven't. I will cop to being an anarchist, I won't deny that."

"What about a murderer? Will you admit to killing several CIA operatives and the Attorney General of the United States?"

Masha smiled. "Those CIA guys, I didn't actually blow them up. That was The Cabal. They framed me for it because I threatened the Director of The Cabal with the files Raymond Reddington released to the media. Files we call The Fulcrum. That made them angry with me and they attempted to neutralize me by framing me for murder."

Wicks eyes squinted with interest. "Those files have been called into question by The New York Times."

"Yes, by a reporter directly linked to The Director of The Cabal. As soon as the files were released you can see through phone records of several phone calls back and forth between the two of them. Now The Director, or Peter Kotsiopulos as he's more commonly known, has denied any involvement with The Cabal and claims it doesn't exist, but if that's the case why would he help orchestrate the alleged debunking of the files. It seems a bit like a conspiracy to me. But don't take my word for it, do your own research. The phone records are all over the internet."

Wicks nodded, "Well what about the Attorney General?"

Masha smiled wickedly. "Now HIM I did kill. I shot him without thinking twice. But if anybody in the world had it coming it was Tom Connolly. Not only was the guy a card carrying member of The Cabal, but he was loud, smirking, condescending, and completely obnoxious. Did that mean he deserved to die? Probably not, but like I said, he had it coming. He threatened me, idly, and if it's one thing I don't like its idle threats. I wasn't going to shoot him but practically forced me to do it. Ask anybody who knows him, nobody is going to miss that guy. I did the world a favor."

Wicks stared almost open mouthed. Masha knew she hadn't expected the honesty.

"I've done bad things Carol. I won't lie to you. Did I shoot the Attorney General? Yes. That cop in Wisconsin, or Idaho, or Iowa, or wherever I was? I did that too. But in my defense that guy never identified himself as a police officer. Not once. He just aimed a gun at me, and when I asked him who he worked for he never said the cops. When I found out he was a cop, just some shcmoe doing his job, I took him to a hospital. I'm not in the business of hurting innocent people. If he had told me he was a cop I would have shot him in the leg or the foot or something. It's just one of those weird things."

"Is that what you call the attempted murder of a police officer? One of those weird things?"

Masha shrugged. "I don't know if it would be attempted murder of a police officer. Like I said he never identified himself to me as a cop. That would make it plain old attempted murder. I may be a criminal but I was once an FBI Agent, I know the details."

"Who is Eugene Ames?"

Masha sighed. "The harbor cop who got killed. I didn't kill him either. I actually tried to save that guy. I gave him a plausible story that would satisfy his needs as a police officer and keep him off that boat. I mean I did everything but scream RUN. The guy went snooping around. Now even if he didn't believe me and thought I was lying, or a phony, or whatever, he knew better than to go back on that boat without backup. That violates every procedure you're taught as a cop. Now like I said I didn't kill him, I won't say who did, but it wasn't me. But I suppose I'm ultimately responsible."

Carol's brows arched, "In what way?"

"I should have followed him home and maybe pushed him down some stairs or something. Beat him up a little so he spent a little time in the hospital. If I had done that he'd probably still be alive, a little banged up but the last thing he'd be thinking about is that boat. But I was in a hurry, I didn't have time to follow up. So, yeah, I'm responsible, in a roundabout way."

Wicks eyes squinted again with interest. "So you're a murderer? You don't take responsibility for all the murders you've been accused of but you did in fact commit some of them?"

"Only the one. A few assaults. A kidnapping. Probably an attempted murder during that kidnapping but that guy from the diner I threw the beating to, it was actually his fault. He tried to rush me when my back was turned. He thought because I was a woman he could take me out. It wasn't true, not even a little bit. There are plenty guys out there who could kick my ass, but that wife beating jerk isn't one of them. I don't regret almost killing him, maybe he'll learn something from it. Maybe it'll keep that idiot wife of his alive. Do you know she actually got mad at ME? She blamed ME, when it was her husband who attacked me. But whatever, you can't save everyone right. I'm not a superhero."

"Is that what you were doing, trying to save her?"

"No, I was trying to keep him away from my gun. But I was a little frustrated, so yeah, it didn't go well. But the end result was the same. She was saved from her nightly beating. She didn't say thank you though."

"So talk to me about Anarchism? Why be an anarchist? The Government calls you a Russian spy, but the Russian Government denies this. Since you're being honest with us can you explain that? What exactly is going on? Are you a spy or an anarchist? Both?"

"Both actually. Well I thought it was both, turns out I was wrong. Imagine being a little girl, four years old. Your parents are gone. Your father dead, your mother you don't even know what happened to her. Then a man comes and tells you that you're special, and that you can help your country, that you can be a hero like your mom. You're just some kid so you say okay and off you go. Years pass, and you're led down this complicated path of lying and spying, all in the name of your country. A country that you don't remember because you were just a baby when you left it. But you're told when your mission is over you can go home and have a life, a family, have a house and husband and children. So you cling to this, your entire life. It's the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Your reward."

"Sounds like a fairy tale," Wicks says softly.

"It is. But little girls love fairy tales don't they? There is a prince and a castle, a family that loves you. It's even got the fairy who shows up and tells you what to do. But in the end you see that its all a lie. Whoever sent you down this path isn't even in the Government. They're setting you up for something. And in the meantime the real Government, the Government you spent your entire life working to make proud, calls you a liar and throws you away. Like they threw your mother away. You realize there is no fairy tale. Just lies. Lies on top of lies and politicians playing games with human lives. Is it MY fault that I wasn't actually working for my government? I was just a kid. A baby. My mother died for her country and that same country left me out in the world alone. They let some maniac take me and train me to be something that wasn't true. Maybe I'm not actually a spy as far as they're concerned but its what I've been told my whole life. It's what I've been raised to do. My question is where were they? Why didn't they come looking for me? Why didn't they take me to my family back home in Russia? They call me a liar but they're the liars. They lied to my mother and they left me alone. Here. Used by God knows who, and when I finally go to them and ask them for help they try and kill me. You ask me why Anarchy? Because any Government who lets their citizens die for it, but doesn't have the decency to see to the welfare of the children they leave behind is greedy and corrupt. They don't even care that somebody lied to me in their name. I was ready to die for my country. I've spent my entire life preparing for a mission somebody inside that corrupt government sent me on and they don't even care enough to find out who."

"So you decided to destroy it instead?"

"Yes. They won't make a place for me there. After all this I'm not even allowed to go home. I don't want a damn parade, I just want to go home to the country I love. I want to see Moscow and the Red Square. I want to walk the streets my mother walked as a girl. That's not asking too much. But since they won't let me maybe the new regime will. So do I want to destroy them, YES. The Russian Government, the American Government. They're corrupt. They're filled with career politicians more interested in personal advancement than safety, security, and justice. Anarchy is the only answer to the problems that plague the world Carol."


	6. Chapter 6

Donald Ressler knew his day was bad when the guys in the dark suits returned. Special Agents Rube Fischer and Andy Hansen had disappeared for months, despite their claims to be integral to the investigation, and their sudden reappearance was making everyone uncomfortable. Agent Fischer had given him a polite hello when he'd come into the room but had otherwise kept quiet. Agent Hansen had only glared, but he was tanned, really tanned, and his cold glare had sent an ironic shiver down Ressler's spine.

Navabi had given them both disinterested looks but when she'd walked passed Hansen ten minutes ago she'd playfully whispered, "Did we ruin your vacation?" Hansen glared at her but Ressler could see the slight hint of a smile whisk across Fischer's face.

The room had been uncomfortably silent since as everyone worked quietly at their stations, or at least pretended to. Ressler had read the same page four times now while he worked hard to pretend his life hadn't turned completely upside down since Keen's interview. The entire world had watched Liz transform herself from insane terrorist to angry lost schoolgirl.

"Do we have any leads from anybody WHATSOEVER," Hansen asked not bothering to hide his frustration. Ressler assumed if he'd gotten dragged off some beach and shoved into some ex post office he'd be pissed off too.

Across the room Aram perked up and Ressler immediately smiled because he knew that smile.

"According to internet chatter, Agent Keen is garnering a lot of sympathy. There are rumors in Russia that the Government is actively seeking out who was actually involved in her so called mission. There is also speculation that she is going to be pardoned by the Russian Government. The Russian people are actually actively seeking it out. Her countrymen actually think she needs psychiatric care instead of incarceration. They're saying she's just angry because she feels betrayed and that her country let her down."

Hansen didn't seem convinced. "You've all insisted for months that she's been framed. Now she's on TV claiming responsibility for being a spy."

Ressler shrugged. "So," he said almost surprising himself. He wasn't in the business of defending Keen. Especially since he KNEW she in fact wasn't a spy but was on TV saying otherwise.

"So, either she is a spy and is finally admitting it, or she's lying now and using that psychology degree of hers and her profiling training to her advantage."

Navabi spoke up, saving Ressler from having to open his mouth again and undermining his authority.

"Actually, strategically speaking, it's her safest move. Her smartest move. She may be lying about being a spy, but it's the Cabal's lie. Of course they can discredit her at any time by proving it isn't true, but that would unravel the entire case against her. All of her alleged motives will fall apart. So they're stuck with her using their own lies against them. If the Russians want to offer her asylum, there isn't much the Cabal can do about it. In MY country if the government sends me off on a suicide mission it's actually standard fare that they take care of my children. In fact someone would be assigned to look after them. If I'm a single mother without family, one of my peers, or even my boss himself, would take my children in. Russians are this way also. Even more so than Israelis. Their culture demands it actually. For their government to fail to protect one of the children of an agent they sent off to die for them, is a humiliating thing. I'd actually be surprised if heads didn't roll."

"Innocent heads," Hansen said off hand.

Ressler smiled. "Oh, so you do believe she's being framed?"

Hansen only glared but Fischer chuckled lightly to himself from his spot at the computer.

* * *

 _I didn't get the_ _impression she was lying. Her entire demeanor was a bit cavalier, and obviously rubs you the wrong way. The way she casually discusses shoving an old man down a flight of stairs, in her words to protect him. Or beating a man almost to death because he was a domestic abuser. These things surely inform you of her comfort with violence. But in both those cases she readily admits her role in things. Not once did she deny beating the man in the diner. She excused it away of course but she did in fact admit to doing it. And in the case of the harbor master she takes responsibility for his death, even though she didn't actually kill him herself. She says she's ultimately responsible because she didn't follow through to make sure he was squared away with his attention thoroughly shifted onto something else. And the police officer she shot, she admits that openly. She says he didn't identify himself as a police officer, which coincides with witness statements at the scene. She says she asked him directly who he worked for and it's been determined that he didn't respond. When she found out he was a police officer she showed genuine concern for him and saw him safely to the hospital, saving his life in fact, before she made another run for it. She knows admitting these things will send her to prison yet she readily admits them. She admits to killing Tom Connelly in fact, saying only that she did us all a favor. Again very callous and probably a bit psychopathic but again incredibly honest. So when she claims that she didn't kill the CIA agents, I believe her. When she claims that there is a secret faction of shadow players called the Cabal, who framed her for this and the murder of a US Senator, I again tend to believe her. Nothing about what she's said to us up until this point tells us she shouldn't be taken at her word. Should she be locked up? Of course. Does it mean she's done everything she's been accused of? Of course not._

* * *

Masha had always assumed the best thing about being a criminal would be the lack of meetings she'd have to sit through on a daily basis. Back when Liz was working for the FBI there had been endless meetings. Meetings about budgets, meetings about assignments, meetings about being assigned budgets for new assignments. It was endless. Being on the run was supposed to be the end of it. Unfortunately for her, she was wrong. She found herself sitting through almost as many meeting these days as before.

Reddington's position as the 'Concierge of Crime' was more than just a title. He knew everyone and seemingly had his hands in everything. He had endless meetings with endless criminals. Drug traffickers, embezzlers, forgers, money launderers, anything he could make a buck off, Reddington always seemed to know a guy. Usually this sort of thing wouldn't matter to Masha, but sometimes people wanted meetings and Reddington wanted her involved. She wasn't sure why but she didn't ask, she trusted him.

"I know you're itching to get back home Masha, but just this one last thing and I'll have you back on the boat in no time."

Across the room Gretchen eyed everyone with suspicion. She'd taken a position in the corner of the room. Dembe had taken a similar position in the opposite corner and between their icy glares the entire room seemed to be on edge.

"It's fine. The boat doesn't reach the next port for almost a week anyway. I have time. I just don't understand why I'm here. I mean I don't know anything about diamonds." Reddington had mentioned something about diamonds on the phone earlier today and Masha had simply assumed that was what the meeting was about.

Reddington smiled, a smile that was more dismissive than amused. A smile that told her that her assumption had been wrong.

"Enough with Jokes," someone with a thick Russian accent said from across the room. He was a stern looking fellow with a serious scowl, greying blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and a furrowed brow. Masha couldn't be positive but she was almost positive she knew him from someplace.

Instead of admit that she wasn't joking about not knowing anything about diamonds Masha shrugged with disinterest.

"Fine, what's on the agenda today gentlemen?"

Reddington smiled, this time with actual amusement, and used his finger to toy with the brim of his hat.

"Gentlemen, Masha, unlike the rest of us," he shrugged. "Well, the rest of you I suppose, is quite used to being on the lam. She doesn't particularly mind being here. One of downsides of being hunted by half the governments in the civilized world is you don't get all riled up and you tend to focus on living more in the moment. Believe me, I was the exact same way in the early days. Eventually it ruffles enough feathers that you finally take note that other people, folks NOT on the FBI Most Wanted list, actually have places to be, public lives to live. But like I said, she's new to this part of the life. So forgive her if she seems to be wasting your time."

Masha rolled her eyes, but Reddington's words were enough for her to piece together the fact that SHE actually arranged this meeting. Well, Reddington had at least on her behalf.

"I'm sorry gentlemen. No sign of disrespect," she looked over at Reddington with fake annoyance. "Happy?"

Reddington didn't respond, instead got right to business.

"Masha has thought about your proposal and has decided that, yes, you in fact can do business."

"Liberating the world from the tyranny of government costs money," Masha said. She wasn't sure what the business was, but she'd heard the excuse, fighting wars costs money, a million times to justify a million different things. It was just as good a thing to say as anything.

The Russian gangster nodded. Masha suddenly remembered his name. She'd interviewed him once on a case a few years back. He'd given her a false name Piotr Brushkev. It wasn't until a few days later that the name rang a bell. A kid's show her mother would play for her on VHS when she was little. Hello Piotr Brushkev, was an obvious rip off of the PBS show, Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. The theme song was even practically the same although nobody seemed to notice because it was all in Russian. This Russian Gangster had used to name as an alias back then and Liz Keen, FBI Agent had even started a file on the guy with the name. When she realized it was a phony, she decided not to do anything about it at all. FBI files were packed with bits of wrong information like that. If she said nothing nobody would likely even realized it was HER mistake. Years passed, and as expected, she never heard another word about it.

"Hello Piotr Brushkev!" Masha said with excitement.

The Russian Gangster rolled his eyes with false frustration. "I am very angry with you for this thing Ms. Rostova."

Reddington for once in his life, didn't seem to know what was going on. Masha decided now was the time to build her reputation.

"A few years ago, I was called in to interview some Russian mafia guys on a case. I just happened to recognized him, he was with a bunch of guys on the FBI's radar but he wasn't. My partner didn't realize he was in charge so I asked him his name, expecting a nice respectable Alias. Alexi, Ivan, Anton. Instead he says Piotr Brushkev of all things and laughs. My partner hears that, and I can't let on that I know he's making a joke, I'm supposed to be American, so put it in the file."

Reddington still wasn't enlightened. "What's wrong with Piotr Brushkev?"

A few of the other Russian guys in the room laughed.

"It's a children's show in Russia. Hello Piotr Brushkev, it's like the Russian version of Mr. Rogers. I was supposed to be American, there was no way for me to know something like that. It's such an obscure reference that it's probably not even on the internet. It was a local thing, maybe went off the air 40 years ago. Me even knowing what it IS was a dead giveaway. So I put it in the file. For all I know they still think that's his real name."

Across the room someone laughed. "Da, they do think this. We got arrested in Brooklyn six months ago. The entire NYPD is looking for the dangerous criminal Kamchy Zaystev, but they don't know what he looks like. So when the police arrest us he doesn't give any name. But we all figure it's just a matter of time before they put two and two together. Only they never do. We sit in jail for nearly two weeks before the FBI lets us go. They look at him and say Piotr Brushkev, you are free to go. We all leave and have a good laugh at this. And we remember that the FBI Agent he playfully told this lie to realized the joke and played a joke of her own. On the streets he's Kamchy Zaystev. But when he gets arrested he's Piotr Brushkev. They simply let him walk right out the front door. This criminal they're all searching for is right under their nose and they don't know. We get a good laugh from this."

Reddington smiled. "You never told me you've met our friend."

"It was years ago. I had totally forgotten about it. I thought it would be funny at the time, but it's not the kind of joke you can actually tell anyone so it never came up again. I don't even remember when that was."

Zaystev shrugged. "2011? 2012?"

"Yeah, and we only talked for like a second. It wasn't like I was making a play. If anything I just played dumb. He's Russian, so I wasn't going to arrest him. Especially since they had no idea who he actually was. If they didn't even know it was HIM, fuck em. I'm not going to lock him up."

"Well this makes things considerably easier. You're in business together, you've already built up a level of trust. This makes the next phase of your working relationship even smoother. Masha's people will provide technical support for the Zaystev Bratva, and in return the Bratva will offer a small percentage to Masha's people which she will use to continue her war with the Government. Of course Masha's people will give you a heads up before any future endeavors they partake in and together they'll figure out a way to make a handsome profit off it." Reddington threw his hands in the air. "Everybody wins."

Masha nodded with acceptance. Across the table Reddington's brow furrowed and he bit the corner of his lip.

"And Masha you're sure this doesn't run counter to your political views?"

Masha gave a smiling Gretchen a look in the corner causing the woman to speak for the first time this afternoon. "We're Anarchists not Occupy Wall Street. We like buying stuff, and in order to buy stuff you need money. Goods for services. That principal predates government."

Reddington nodded his approval. "Well alright then. That's takes care of that."

* * *

Samar Navabi looked at the large screen projection of a computer monitor in the center of the room and shrugged. Russian gangsters? She didn't see what business Rostova would have with the Russian mob.

"What is this now? Some sort of deal to get her back into Russia?"

Ressler stared at the screen with suspicion. "When was this exactly?"

Across the room Agents Hansen and Fischer looked at the screen with confusion themselves. Apparently all the resources of the CIA didn't allow them any more information than everyone else. Navabi thought this funny but didn't say it. The CIA wasn't the sort of Agency you teased on a whim.

"This was taken a week ago in Taiwan. Taipei actually. We don't know exactly what they met about but these guys are all Russian mafia. Most are high ranking members of the Zaystev Bratva."

Navabi nodded. "I would think so, seeing as how they're hanging out with Bratva himself. Guys like him don't actually spend much time with the rank and file."

Across the room Ressler's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Navabi shrugged. "Nothing. Just saying anyone with enough juice to hang with Zaystev himself is likely high ranking. The guys at this meeting are likely high ranking guys is all I'm saying. Each one will have a rap sheet a mile long with crimes ranging from theft to murder. Dangerous types."

Ressler walked across the room shaking his head. "No, not that. Zaystev, he's in one of these photos?"

Navabi nodded. "Of course, that guy, the blonde guy with the blue eyes and the black suit. That's Kamchy Zaystev," she looked at him with honest confusion. "How do you not know that? Who do you think it is?"

Agent Fischer sighed. "Our records have him as a Piotr Brushkev."

Across the room Aram laughed and Navabi fought hard to keep from laughing out loud herself. She let a smile creep across her face but shook her head with amusement.

"Piotr Brushkev?"

Aram laughed again causing Agent Hansen to get angry. He was clearly still smarting from being dragged off his beach.

"Why is that funny?"

"Piotr Brushkev is the Russian version of Mr. Rogers. It's an alias." Navabi said the words with as much genuine pity as she could manage without actually sounding condescending.

Aram chuckled again and muttered Piotr Brushkev under his breath with amusement.

"Jesus Christ, who started this file?" Ressler didn't seem amused and Navabi knew better than to keep pushing the envelope.

"Aram who started that file?" she asked hoping to be helpful.

Aram punched a few keys in his computer before losing his sense of humor. Navabi knew him well enough to know that only meant one thing.

"Special Agent Elizabeth Keen," Aram said softly but clear enough for everyone to hear.

"Damnit," Ressler said loudly. "Everyone," he said loud enough to be considered a yell, but not quite with the same angry tone you'd expect. "Get every file Keen touched and verify everything she's touched. Names, dates, ID's, all of it. Anything you find that doesn't jibe comes to me. Anything. I don't care if she forgot to dot an I or cross a T, it goes on my desk."

Navabi noticed Fischer and Hansen were on the phone not paying attention. They were likely reporting the news to their superior, who would surely use the news to put the nail in Rostova's coffin when she was finally apprehended."

"The NYPD had this guy in custody six months ago. They didn't have an ID so we ID him out as Piotr Brushkev. They said the son of a bitch giggled when they called him that though. The DA thought it was likely an alias but we're the FBI, it was our case not theirs and they let him go." Ressler seemed more annoyed than he should have been. He should have been used to things like this happening. Drug Lords, Russian Gangsters, a TV interview. They all said the same thing. Keen wasn't Keen, but Rostova. Ressler refused to believe it. Navabi only half believed it herself but she never doubted the evidence.

"What's next?" she asked.

Ressler sighed. "We double check her work and we continue to bring Masha in."

Navabi's eyes widened with interest. It was the first time he'd called her Masha and not Liz.


End file.
